Moving Forward
by Summerfall
Summary: (CS medical AU) - Emma finds solace in unexpected company after a harrowing day at work.


Emma finds herself in the 24-hour diner across the street, aptly called Granny's, after the stern and formidable matron who owns the establishment.

Stepping into the diner is like stepping back into the '80s, with its vinyl booths, linoleum tiles and antique jukebox. But it also feels like stepping into a warm embrace after the sterile maze of the hospital. She can already feel the aching cavity in her chest smooth out its jagged edges, though it remains heavy with loss, clinging to the side and refusing to let go. The wounds are too recent and raw and Emma refuses to examine it too closely, inadequacy and shame snapping ever close on her heels.

Granny is not a woman to be trifled with but Emma loves her for her silent understanding and her no-nonsense demeanour.

And her grilled cheese.

Boy, does she love Granny's grilled cheese. There were days when the elderly woman would force feed her enough food for a family of four but Emma knew those were the days when she needed it most.

Apparently, tonight was one of those days when she stumbled into the diner at 2am, a jacket thrown over her scrubs, too exhausted to change. She fell into the corner booth where the weathered vinyl welcomes her with a creak and a groan, hugging her body with a familiarity of a constant friend. A plate of grilled cheese with onion rings appeared before her, with Granny on the side, who fixed her with a piercing stare.

"Eat." She ordered and waited until Emma took a tentative bite before nodding in satisfaction and disappearing behind the counter.

Emma wiped her hands on her scrubs, leaving grease marks behind, her head falling back against the sun-bleached seat. She's not hungry, even her favourite comfort food cannot tempt her tonight.

Her eyes itch with fatigue and her body practically begs for bed but she needs the white noise of an establishment instead of the quiet bleakness of an empty house, where the demons in her mind plays on her guilty conscience.

A boom of laughter startles her. A hefty man with a face of unruly facial hair is sharing a laugh with a waitress. He pulls out his wallet and as he flips it open, Emma catches a glimpse of a blond girl with a toothy grin. She turns away with a roiling stomach, seeing the same blond hair stained scarlet, spilling over the side of the gurney, face pale, lips colourless, small hands curled in hers in a silent entreaty for help which limply fell away upon the last breath.

Emma closes her eyes against the image, only to see it imprinted on the inside of her eyelids, can almost feel the adrenaline rush as everyone moved along in a well-rehearsed dance of saving a life, only to be left with a broken body and a broken soul. A clock ticked in the background, the sound loud and ominous upon each strike, chasing time in a never-ending cycle, always the same but different, an echo of the fragility of human life.

Opening her eyes against the sudden suffocation that is her mind, the diner came back into sharp relief, dim lights almost blinding. The bulbs overhead swings naked in the air, highlighting the cracks on the table from the years of abuse. Her finger trace over the scars, dipping into the deeper gauges where it has smoothed out over the years. How easy is it to be an inanimate object, to not care, to not feel, to not have pain and sorrow lodge in the hollow of your throat until you choke on a silent scream.

"You will offend Granny Lucas if you continue to glare at her food like that."

The words reach through the haze of her mind and Emma found herself blinking up at Killian Jones, his characteristic smirk in place but his blue eyes were gentle as it surveyed her. Unlike her, he has made a civil attempt at facing the world, his dark hair is damp, most likely from the hospital facilities, and dressed in his everyday clothes (though given that they spend more time at work than out, this point is debatable).

Emma internally groaned. "What?"

Killian gestures at the table she is sitting at. "You were glaring at it with enough focus to set it alight."

Oh. Sighing, Emma rubbed at the bridge of her nose wearily. "I'm not in the mood for your innuendos tonight, Jones."

He slides into the booth opposite her, ignoring her glare. "Fear not, Swan, I come in peace."

Emma snorts. "Since when?"

It was then that Emma got the full intensity of Killian's knowing stare – the look of understanding, of kindness, of solace. Emma swallows at the lump in her throat and looks away.

"I don't need your pity."

"Good, because you are not getting it."

Emma glance back at him in surprise. "Then why are you here?"

Killian shrugs, scratching behind his ear. "For the food. The company."

"I recommend the former, the latter not so much."

She struggles to keep her comment flippant, a casual toss away remark that will hopefully get him to leave her alone. Not that she hates him, not at all, but he has a way of getting under her skin. His confidence and swagger and his unnerving ability to charm any living being with a pulse. While Emma felt every bit the lost girl who had struggled her way through med school and still proving herself at every turn. Tonight was not the night to reinforce that inadequacy with his presence. He was there tonight on the scene, despite being on the periphery, she knows he had seen everything unfold, seen her fail.

"You know you can't save everyone."

His voice is quiet but sure, easing her back to the present.

"Doesn't mean I can't try." Emma is surprised by how broken her voice sounds.

A look of understanding cross his face. "No, it doesn't, but it doesn't mean you fail when you don't succeed."

A bitter laugh pass through Emma's lips. "Isn't that the definition of failure?"

Crossing his arms on the table, Killian leans forward as he regards her. "Failure is when you give up, when you don't give a damn, when you don't even try."

His voice is fierce and passionate, the intensity almost takes Emma aback. She knows his history, everybody does, the years he spent as a naval doctor and the death of his elder brother that sent him down that road. He never spoke about it and no one ever asks. But there are days when Emma would see the haunted look in his eyes, the sadness, the loneliness and the helplessness. She recognised it, sees it almost every day in the mirror. He was adept at hiding it though – in a blink of an eye, it would disappear behind a mask of bravado and affectation.

(But she knows that in that moment, she had seen the real Killian Jones. Had felt the connection. And it scares her more than anything else.)

(Not that it ever affected his work. She's seen him in surgery, seen the way he moves with practiced ease in the operating theatre like a second home, the way he spoke to the prone patients over the music and the constant beeps and hums of the machines. Sometimes it's something mundane like his day at work or what he had for breakfast, other times he would describe what he is doing, the intricacy of the operation. In short, he treated the patients as people rather than a problem to be solved. It was something to be admired and respected.)

"So what do I do when the cost of not succeeding is that of a life?"

"You grieve, you learn and you stand back up. Don't let that moment define you because you are capable of helping others. That's the best way to honour a life, to help, to live; not to carry their ghost around. And certainly," He reaches forward to tap a finger against her plate. "You don't go wasting good food."

He snatches an onion ring from her plate and pops it into his mouth before giving her a grin.

A sad smile graces Emma's lips as she glance at her barely touched meal. "It's not as simple as it sounds, is it?"

The grin slips from his face. "Aye, possibly one of the most difficult challenges. It's always the ones that are left behind who inevitably end up picking of the pieces of a shattered life." His hand rest inches from Emma's own and she fought the urge to brush her pinky against his, if only a show in comfort.

"Hence the importance of company, to remind us to move forward, even when we don't want to." His voice is soft, the lilt in his accent heavier with the weight of the conversation. But then he smiles softly at her and Emma found herself smiling back.

She understands Killian's words, knows the weight behind them and the hard lessons to be learnt, one she will have to wade through with time. It doesn't erase the whirl of chaos within her but it does placate her, and despite the tiredness she feels in her marrow and the stain of blood upon her soul, she does not let Granny's food go to waste.

It tastes as good as it always does.

The company wasn't that bad either. Even if he does steal her food.


End file.
